A Very Merry Punch
by Magica Draconia
Summary: Harry has a plan to humiliate Umbridge, but with the help of a young house-elf, he gets a bit - okay, a LOT - more than he bargained for.


Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the castle, not a creature was stirring, not even a . . . Professor.

_So okay,_ thought Harry Potter, _it doesn't really rhyme._ But hey, he wasn't planning to be the world's next poet, after all.

He was currently creeping along the corridor towards the kitchens. Fred and George Weasley had come up with a _wonderful_ idea to get revenge on Umbridge and hopefully convince her to leave the castle for good. Tonight was the perfect opportunity, he just needed a little help from a friendly house-elf.

Tickling the pear, Harry entered the kitchens and found them strangely emptier than they usually were. "Hello?" he called, hoping that there would be at least _one_ house-elf still here. There was a long pause, and then a squeak from somewhere deeper in the kitchen. "Hello?" Harry called again. "I need an elf to help me."

"Ooh, Master, Is can help!" a voice squealed, and a small house-elf shot out of the shadows. Harry looked down at it, dubiously. It really was a _very_ small elf, probably a very young one. He wasn't entirely sure this one would be able to manage what he needed it to do.

"Are you sure?" he asked, doubtfully. "Where're the other elves?"

"Master Headmaster is giving us extra special workings elsewhere!" the elf squeaked. "But Tipsy is too young, so is here to help Master!"

_Tipsy?_ How strangely . . . appropriate! Harry crouched down before the little elf, and pulled a red velvet pouch out from his pocket. "Okay, Tipsy, the professors are having a party tonight. I need you to take the powder that's in this bag, and tip in into the punch of the professor all in pink, alright?"

"Powder into punch of pink lady!" Tipsy squeaked, snatching the bag from Harry's hand. "Tipsy will do so right away!" And the elf popped out before Harry could say anything else.

Shaking his head, Harry made sure to cover himself with the invisibility cloak before exiting the kitchens, and making his way steadily towards the staff room. Dumbledore had planned a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix tonight, but thanks to Umbridge intercepting one of the responding owls, he'd had to change it into a general party for the staff and several important Ministers – which just so happened to include Mr Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody (the real one), and several other Ministry workers who were also part of the Order.

Checking the Marauder's Map carefully, Harry slid into a secret passage that ran the length of the staff room, and had several interestingly placed spy-holes. Obviously Umbridge wasn't the only one to ever be placed in the castle to spy on the staff – she was just a lot more obvious about it. Placing himself behind a spy-hole halfway along the wall, Harry made himself comfortable.

From this vantage point, he could see just about the entire staff room. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Vector were standing in the corner nearest the door, quietly talking, and looking as though they were planning to make a run for it as soon as possible. Hagrid was stooped over at the far side of the room, peering anxiously out of one of the windows at the Forbidden Forest. A professor that Harry thought taught Muggle Studies entered along with Professor Sinistra, and they made straight for the buffet that was set up along the opposite wall to where Harry crouched. Two wizards that Harry didn't know, who were presumably from the Ministry, were standing not far from Hagrid, heads together in quiet discussion, hands waving theatrically to emphasis one point or another.

_But where's Umbridge?_ Harry wondered. He'd thought she'd want to be here fairly early for this, but he couldn't see her. Then again, maybe she was trying to catch Dumbledore in a secret meeting elsewhere in the castle.

If she was, she was out of luck, as Dumbledore entered the room at that very moment, with Shacklebolt and Moody behind him. They soon split up, wandering the room in different directions to murmur quietly with people. Harry found himself holding his breath as Dumbledore and Moody both passed incredibly close to the wall behind which he was crouched. Dumbledore always seemed to know everything, and Moody's eye would surely give him away . . .

But if they saw him, the two men ignored him completely, and turned to face the door as Umbridge finally appeared. She was patting a strand of hair back into place, and her face was as pink as her robes. Harry resisted the urge to snicker – she'd been running. No doubt trying to catch someone doing something nefarious.

"Ah, good evening, Delores," Dumbledore greeted her, politely.

"Dumbledore," she responded, briskly, and pushed past him to head towards the buffet and the punch bowl. This time, Harry held his breath in anticipation.

But – no, wait a minute! One of the ministry wizards had spoken to her, and she had half turned towards him, one hand resting on the side of the punch bowl. _Oh, no!_ Harry thought, his eyes widening with horror as the young elf, Tipsy, suddenly popped into view underneath the buffet table. _No, no, no! Just her punch cup, not the whole bowl!_

While Harry was debating whether it would be better to risk giving himself away by making a noise at the elf, the little elf undid the bag of powder, and upended the whole thing into the punch bowl.

_Oh, Merlin, I am so dead!_ Harry gently thumped his head against the wall behind him. Fred and George hadn't been entirely forthcoming about what exactly the powder _did_, they'd just said it would humiliate Umbridge beyond her worst nightmares. And now everyone who drank the punch would be affected.

Harry closed his eyes as Umbridge turned back to the bowl. When he opened them again, she was standing with the two ministry wizards, all three of them holding cups of punch.

When he looked around the room again, Dumbledore was handing out more cups. Harry stifled a groan. _What's Dumbledore playing at?_ Mad-Eye Moody took a cup, sniffed at it, then rolled his magical eye to the spot of wall hiding Harry, before looking back at Dumbledore, shrugging and taking a large gulp. Apparently Dumbledore had a plan of his own.

* * *

Half an hour later, by the time all the rest of the professors and ministry workers had arrived, it was glaringly obvious just who had been drinking the most punch. Surprisingly, it wasn't Trelawney. _Maybe she drinks so much sherry that she's built up a tolerance,_ Harry mused.

Professor Sprout was in a corner, curled up around a potted plant, and giggling to herself. Harry didn't want to know what she thought she was doing.

Umbridge had somehow managed to convince Moody to dance with her, despite there being no music. From the way his magical eye was fixedly staring downwards, it was fairly obvious what Moody was looking at. Not that there was much in his way, since Umbridge had been steadily shedding robes for the past ten minutes as her face grew ever pinker. Her hair had half escaped whatever she'd used to pin it up, and kept falling in her eyes.

McGonagall and Vector were stationed very close to Harry, their heads together and whispering. Girlish giggles kept coming from them every so often.

Flitwick was on top of the buffet table, dancing what appeared to be some sort of Irish jig. Dumbledore was in an over-cushioned armchair that he'd conjured, asleep. His head tipped back, his mouth was wide open as he snored loudly. Several of the ministry workers appeared to be playing spin the bottle.

So far, Professor Snape seemed to be the only sober person in the room. He was standing just to the left of where Harry had hidden himself, his arms folded across his chest, glaring at the entire room in disapproval.

"Oh, lighten up, Severus!" McGonagall hiccupped, as she and Vector made their way over to him. "It's a party, and it's Christmas! Most of the little brats have gone home – surely that's worth celebrating?"

_Hey!_ Harry thought indignantly, scowling through the wall at his Head of House. Just wait until lessons started up again – he'd show her 'little brat'!

"Come on, Severus, dance with me," Vector urged, trying to prise one of his arms loose.

"Stop that!" Snape snapped at her. "For goodness sakes, woman, go and stick your head under a faucet."

"Now, now, Severus, play nice." McGonagall wagged a swaying finger in his face. "You can come and dance with me."

"Honestly, Minerva, I think I'm a bit young for you," Snape replied, his lip curling up in a sneer.

"Nonsense, Severus, you're old enough to take it. Heck, you can even take _me_," McGonagall leered at him.

Fortunately, the sound of Harry choking was covered by the sound of Snape spluttering.

"Hey, hands off," Vector protested, sidling ever closer to Snape. "He's mine, aren't you, Sevvie?"

_Sevvie?_ Harry mouthed to himself. He didn't know whether to laugh himself silly, or be awestruck by the sheer recklessness of what Vector had just done.

"No, I am not," Snape growled. He jerked himself free from Vector's wandering hands, and neatly evaded McGonagall's grab at him. "Excuse me, I have to go talk to . . . someone else." He stalked off towards the other side of the room, where he was promptly cornered by the Muggle Studies professor and Sinistra. Harry noticed with amusement that Snape was beginning to look hunted as he tried to evade the persistent women. _Who'd have thought Snape would be considered such a catch? Or perhaps it's just that the other choices are Hagrid, Moody, Flitwick or Dumbledore . . ._

A sudden whoop from a corner made Harry turn his eyes that way . . . and instantly wish for someone to come along and obliviate him of the last few minutes. Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt were in the middle of a strip-tease. Harry shook his head frantically. _That is NOT an image I need of my best friend's dad!_

A coy girlish giggle brought his attention back to Moody and Umbridge, who looked as if they'd been stuck together. _Blech! I thought Moody had better taste than THAT!_ Harry shook his head again. Just what was in that powder Fred and George had given him?

A sudden thump against the wall made him jump. Trelawney had finally succumbed to the punch, and was weaving dizzily around the room, trying to tell everyone's fortune. She appeared to have fixated on Snape, who wasn't standing still long enough to either listen to her or for any of the other female professors to catch him.

"Severus," Trelawney warbled, stretching a hand out to him. "I see flowers – roses – _red_ roses – candles, a romantic dinner for two set high in the air to take in the sunset . . ." The rest of her words disappeared into a slur of nonsense, and she suddenly slumped to the floor and began snoring.

Snape continued to ignore her, as he had unfortunately managed to become cornered by Vector, McGonagall, Sinistra and Hooch, who had a particularly predatory look in her sharp golden eyes. Snape visibly gulped – Harry could see it even from his hiding place – and then there was a bright flash of light, and the professors were all flung away from the corner. Snape didn't even stop to see if any were injured, but took the opportunity and made an undignified dash for the staff room door.

There was a crash from another corner. Hagrid had collapsed, and was weeping, although his words were so garbled that nobody could understand him. Harry thought he heard the word "grope", but that couldn't be right, surely?

A moan came from the middle of the room, and yet again Harry was left wishing for a merciful obliviate. He did _NOT_ want to ever remember seeing Moody and Umbridge getting ever friendlier. He shuddered in horror, and decided that maybe it was time for him to leave.

He silently made his way back along the secret passage – although he doubted anyone in the staff room would care even if he sang and danced his way back – and flung his cloak over his head before stepping out into the corridor.

He was just breathing a sigh of relief when a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder.

Harry gulped. He was really in trouble now! He looked behind him into the furious black eyes of Severus Snape, who said, in a silky drawl, "And just _where_ do you think _you're_ going, Mr Potter?"


End file.
